Author of Suspense Thrillers talks writing & stuff

Archive for the month “November, 2012”

Three men died on Christmas Eve and were met by Saint Peter at the pearly gates.

“In honor of this holy season,” Saint Peter said, “You must each possess something that symbolizes Christmas to get into heaven.”

The first man fumbled through his pockets and pulled out a lighter. He flicked it on. “It represents a candle,” he said. “You may pass through the pearly gates,” Saint Peter said.

The second man reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He shook them and said, “They’re bells.” Saint Peter said, “You may pass through the pearly gates.”

The third man started searching desperately through his pockets and finally pulled out a pair of women’s glasses.

St. Peter looked at the man with a raised eyebrow and asked, “And just what do those symbolize?”

The man replied, “They’re Carol’s.”

You Better Be Good

Sarah and her thirteen-year-old sister had been fighting a lot this year. This happens when you combine a headstrong two-year-old, who is sure she is always right, with a young adolescent.

Sarah’s parents, trying to take advantage of her newfound interest in Santa Claus, reminded the two-year-old that Santa was watching and doesn’t like it when children fight. This had little impact.

“I’ll just have to tell Santa about your misbehavior,” the mother said as she picked up the phone and dialed. Sarah’s eyes grew big as her mother asked “Mrs. Claus” (really Sarah’s aunt; Santa’s real line was busy) if she could put Santa on the line. Sarah’s mouth dropped open as Mom described to Santa (Sarah’s uncle) how the two-year-old was acting. But, when Mom said that Santa wanted to talk to her, she reluctantly took the phone.

Santa, in a deepened voice, explained to her how there would be no presents Christmas morning to children who fought with their sisters. He would be watching, and he expected things to be better from now on.

Sarah, now even more wide eyed, solemnly nodded to each of Santa’s remarks and silently hung the phone up when he was done. After a long moment, Mom (holding in her chuckles at being so clever) asked, “What did Santa say to you, dear?”

In almost a whisper, Sarah sadly but matter-of-factly stated, “Santa said he won’t be bringing toys to my sister this year.”

A Christmas Gift

A guy bought his wife a beautiful diamond ring for Christmas.

After hearing about this extravagant gift, a friend of his said, “I thought she wanted one of those sporty four-wheel-drive vehicles.”

“She did,” he replied. “But where was I going to find a fake Jeep?”

A Sign of the Times

As a little girl climbed onto Santa’s lap, Santa asked the usual, “And what would you like for Christmas?”
The child stared at him open mouthed and horrified for a minute, then gasped: “Didn’t you get my E-mail?”

Do You Know Santa’s True Profession???Submitted by K. Smith

Consider the following:

1. You never actually see Santa, only his “assistants.”
2. Santa keeps his job until he decides to retire.
3. Santa doesn’t really do the work; he directs a bunch of helpers
to do all his work for him, but he’s the one who everybody credits
with the work.
4. Santa doesn’t work anywhere near a 40 hour week.
5. Santa travels a lot.

Thanks to our good friend, Judy M, in California for this wonderful, hilarious and timely blog.

TWAS THE NIGHT OF THANKSGIVING,
BUT I JUST COULDN’T SLEEP.
I TRIED COUNTING BACKWARDS,
I TRIED COUNTING SHEEP.

THE LEFTOVERS BECKONED –
THE DARK MEAT AND WHITE,
BUT I FOUGHT THE TEMPTATION
WITH ALL OF MY MIGHT.

TOSSING AND TURNING WITH ANTICIPATION,
THE THOUGHT OF A SNACK BECAME INFATUATION.
SO, I RACED TO THE KITCHEN, FLUNG OPEN THE DOOR,
AND GAZED AT THE FRIDGE, FULL OF GOODIES GALORE.
GOBBLED UP TURKEY AND BUTTERED POTATOES,
PICKLES AND CARROTS, BEANS AND TOMATOES.

I FELT MYSELF SWELLING SO PLUMP AND SO ROUND,
‘TIL ALL OF A SUDDEN, I ROSE OFF THE GROUND.
I CRASHED THROUGH THE CEILING, FLOATING INTO THE SKY,
WITH A MOUTHFUL OF PUDDING AND A HANDFUL OF PIE.
BUT, I MANAGED TO YELL AS I SOARED PAST THE TREES….
HAPPY EATING TO ALL – PASS THE CRANBERRIES, PLEASE.

MAY YOUR STUFFING BE TASTY,
MAY YOUR TURKEY BE PLUMP.
MAY YOUR POTATOES ‘N GRAVY HAVE NARY A LUMP.
MAY YOUR YAMS BE DELICIOUS.
MAY YOUR PIES TAKE THE PRIZE,
MAY YOUR THANKSGIVING DINNER STAY OFF OF YOUR THIGHS!!

Perhaps you’ve heard the old saying, “Life is like a roll of toilet paper. The closer you get to the end, the faster it goes.” Well, maybe it’s not really an old saying, just something I saw on a T-shirt or a bumper sticker a long time ago. Regardless of the origin, it certainly is a truism. Time is such an insidious thief. It does not discriminate. It cannot be controlled. It is also a phenomenon that received a little attention from Albert Einstein in his theory of relativity. (And he was a pretty smart guy!)

For example, when I was twelve years old, I couldn’t wait for that magic birthday number sixteen! Suddenly, my baby fat would disappear, boys would be flocking around me and, most importantly, I would get my driver’s license. Time seemed to move at a snail’s pace. It could not move quickly enough! At sixteen, the baby fat was still there (as a matter of fact, it still is!) and the boys were not exactly beating a path to my front door. But at least now I had wheels to speed through two more years until the next magic birthday, number eighteen. At eighteen, I could barely stand the tortoise pace of time until birthday number twenty-one and legal independence! And so on.

Now, fast forward to 2012 – and I do mean FAST! Somewhere along the line that roll of toilet paper has begun to whirl out of control. Minutes, days, months, years speed by as if propelled by rocket fuel! How did I get so old so quickly? When did all this grey hair creep in? Where did all these wrinkles come from? How did my babies become adults without my noticing? “Slow down!” I say. But no, time will not slow down and society, along with technology, will not allow it to even if it could. Once again, I am reminded of the relativity between time and speed. And at no time is it more evident than at this time of year as we approach the holiday season with breakneck speed. Loretta LaRoche described it so well in her latest “Get A Life” blog: (http://lorettalaroche.wordpress.com/)

…life seems to whoosh by with each passing year. It seems that I just had Thanksgiving dinner and now it’s here again. How did that happen? And Christmas is just around the corner. Of course it’s not easy to forget either holiday since the media relentlessly feeds us their ads to buy, buy, buy starting in late August. Christmas decorations are already up and we haven’t even cleared the Thanksgiving dinner. Black Friday is closing in on us, but now there are some stores that will be open at 9Pm Thanksgiving night in case you have an obsessive need to go to a store and leave your guests in the living room. Forget hanging out and reflecting on the day’s gathering. It’s much better to think about what you’ll be going to purchase while you’re chewing on a drumstick. We have turned life into a constant need to access the future without living in the present. This shift in how our culture lives their lives creates a great deal of stress. My mother and her generation seemed to savor each holiday without feeling obligated to discuss the one coming. I have talked to many people about this phenomenon and it may be time to reflect on spending more time honoring the moments we’re in rather than anticipating or dreading the ones that are coming. This is not an easy practice in a society that has come to value “doing” rather than “being”.

Yes, Loretta, I now embrace the present. The future will just have to take care of itself. Until I come to the end of my roll, I promise to strive to be a human being, not a human doing. How about you?

Next Thursday, millions of families will celebrate Thanksgiving with roasted turkey, buttery mashed potatoes, and (with only a slight amount of guilt) another piece of pumpkin pie. But in early America, days of Thanksgiving weren’t always about food.

Reflecting American religious practice, Presidents and Congresses from the beginning of the republic have from time to time designated days of fasting and thanksgiving (the Thanksgiving holiday we continue to celebrate on the third Thursday of November was established by Abraham Lincoln during the Civil War).

Following a resolution of Congress, President George Washington proclaimed Thursday the 26th of November 1789 a day of “public thanksgiving and prayer” devoted to “the service of that great and glorious Being who is the beneficent Author of all the good that was, that is, or that will be.” In setting aside a day for Thanksgiving, Washington established a non-sectarian tone for these devotions and stressed political, moral, and intellectual blessings that make self-government possible, in addition to personal and national repentance.

Although the First Amendment prevents Congress from establishing a religion or prohibiting its free exercise, Presidents, as well as Congress, have always recognized the American regard for sacred practices and beliefs. Thus, throughout American history, Presidents have offered non-sectarian prayers for the victory of the military and in the wake of catastrophes. Transcending passionate quarrels over the proper role of religion in politics, the Thanksgiving Proclamation reminds us how natural their relationship has been. While church and state are separate, religion and politics, in their American refinement, prop each other up.

[T]hen unite in most humbly offering our prayers and supplications to the great Lord and Ruler of Nations, and beseech Him to pardon our national and other transgressions; to enable us all, whether in public or private stations, to perform our several and relative duties properly and punctually; to render our National Government a blessing to all the people by constantly being a Government of wise, just, and constitutional laws, discreetly and faithfully executed and obeyed; to protect and guide all sovereigns and nations (especially such as have shown kindness to us), and to bless them with good governments, peace, and concord; to promote the knowledge and practice of true religion and virtue, and the increase of science among them and us; and, generally, to grant unto all mankind such a degree of temporal prosperity as He alone knows to be best.

MISPLACED – Put in the wrong place or position; put in an unaccustomed or forgotten place

LOST – No longer in your possession or control; unable to be found or recovered • Incapable of being recovered or regained

MY DEFINITIONS

MISPLACED = temporary, hopeful, possibly a case for intervention by St. Anthony, the patron saint of lost (or, rather, misplaced) objects.

LOST = permanent, hopeless, the situation may be better delegated to St. Jude, the patron saint of hopeless cases.

We have an ongoing controversy in our household. Whenever something has mysteriously disappeared from its usual place – or in the case of some items, places – I say it has been “misplaced.” My partner, on the other hand, insists that the missing object is “lost.” Perhaps I am splitting hairs on this disagreement, but I don’t think so. It’s more about attitude and stress, not semantics. It is the line of demarcation between an optimist and a pessimist. Like Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Nurse Nellie, I am definitely a “Cockeyed Optimist.” My partner is probably better described in Billy Reeve’s indie-rock song, “A Pessimist Is Never Disappointed.”

For example, several weeks ago one of my two favorite paring knives vanished. Poof! Gone with the wind. Somewhere between knife stand, cutting board and dishwasher the little devil had disappeared. Yes, I bought two identical knives for situations like this. And no, that does not mean I’m a closet pessimist, just practical. After all, who wants to slice a sweet, juicy pineapple with the same knife that has just plunged into the layers of a pungent onion?

But I digress. Days of searching for the lost/misplaced knife produced no results. It was maddening! “Forget about it,” said the pessimist, “it’s lost and that’s all there is to it!” “No!” retorted the eternal optimist. “It’s here somewhere, it has to be. It didn’t just cut its way out of here, and I don’t think either Diesel or Emmett could have carried it off without any bloodshed!” On day seven came the optimist’s inevitable last resort, a plea to St. Anthony. And, believe it or not, within minutes the perfect parer revealed itself to me. There it was, in the front of the regular silverware drawer – where it is never kept, by the way – staring back at me, it’s blade twinkling with reflected light as if to chide, “How could you not have seen me all this time?” I was vindicated!

But then there was the case of our safe deposit box keys that were, I had stolidly insisted, merely misplaced. This time the defeat was mine. Five years and countless repeated prayers to my great Saint Anthony produced no results. They were forever hopelessly lost. I wish I had been right on this one. It would have been much cheaper to replace the knife than to pay for the new safe deposit lock. But I could have sworn I had put them into a very safe place and just forgot where that safe place was.